Memory of Murder. Ramona Richards

word calmly. When she got to the part about the man with the flashlight, he’d turned and said something to an officer behind him, then faced her again.

      For the first time, Lindsey saw Ray in action as a sheriff, not just as her brother-in-law. He insisted that she focus on him instead of the unconscious assailant still trapped in the car with her—to keep her awake and alert. Although Lindsey knew all the reasons her sister June had fallen for the easygoing sheriff, she now saw why Jeff admired his mentor and boss. She saw in Ray the same mannerisms that she’d noticed so often in Jeff.

      Ray moved aside to allow the EMTs to reach her. One of the rescue workers peered in, evaluating the situation. “I’m going to cover you both. Then we’re going to cut into the roof as well as get this door open. It’s going to be really loud, and the whole car will vibrate. When we get access, everything will happen fast. We’ll grab him first, then you. You holler if any shifts cause your pain to get worse.”

      Lindsey nodded, and he pulled the blanket over both of them, tucking it in tight. In the abrupt darkness, Lindsey let out another ragged sigh and closed her eyes. Tears ran down her cheeks again, and she pushed away thoughts of how close the man who had tried to kidnap her was to her face, that he could wake up at any moment. Even with the workers outside and the sheriff close, Lindsey’s fear of the man hovered near. He’d acted and sounded so crazy!

      Outside the car, a sputtering engine roared to full power, like a chain saw on steroids. The car rocked with the first effort, and Lindsey squeezed her eyes tighter as pain shot through her hips and back. Nothing she couldn’t handle. Again her mind snapped to her childhood and the abuse her father had inflicted.

      The shriek of ripping metal helped Lindsey push the memory away, and she gritted her teeth against the sound. Then voices called, echoing around the ravine with a new fervor. Someone peeled the blanket away, and Lindsey blinked as light and cooler air flooded in. Two men reached in, gently easing her attacker onto a backboard. Over the cacophony of the rescue efforts, she heard the steady whup-whup of a helicopter.

      “Lifeflight?” she asked one of the EMTs.

      He nodded. “They’re taking him to Vanderbilt. You’ll probably go to NorthCrest, unless you’re hurt worse than we think.”

      “Bruises, cuts, some pulled muscles. And I think I twisted my ankle when it hit the dash. Nothing major.”

      Finalizing his work on the attacker, the EMT nodded at his coworkers and the backboard disappeared as it moved up the side of the ravine. He turned his attention to Lindsey. “You a nurse?”

      “No. But I’ve been hurt bad before. I know how it feels.”

      He reached in and slid a foam cervical collar around her neck. “How ’bout we let the docs decide?”

      Lindsey took a deep breath. “Just didn’t want you fussing over me without reason.”

      The EMT grinned at her. “My job. Now I’m going to see if I can slide this board between you and the seat. You ready?”

      “My sisters will tell you I’m always ready for the next step.”

      “I can believe that. Now, don’t move. Don’t try to help me. Let me do the work.”

      Lindsey closed her eyes again, fighting the urge to claw her own way out of this stupid car.

      No. Not just a car. A 1968 GTO. A bright orange 1968 GTO. The image of her father, his face battered and blotted, shot through her mind again, along with another shadowy figure. Entwined with them was the image of the orange GTO. Lindsey gasped. Why did that happen? What could her father have to do with the car? More importantly...

      “Is she dead?”

      What am I remembering? And why?

      TWO

      “Mild concussion. Ribs bruised but fortunately not broken. Cuts and abrasions, along with the burn, which—”

      “In other words, I can get back to work. Now.” Jeff tugged his uniform shirt closed and buttoned it, trying to ignore the dirt smears and tiny tears from the gravel. He tucked it into his waistband, wincing at the soreness in his chest and muscles. The bandages they’d taped over his few injuries pulled against his skin as he tightened his belt.

      Nick Collins, the emergency-room doctor who had treated more than his fair share of the sheriff’s officers, stopped typing on a mini-laptop and looked up at Jeff over the top of his reading glasses. “What’s got you in such a snit? You’re usually the calm one on Ray’s team.”

      Standing behind Nick, Sheriff Ray Taylor spoke grimly. “He failed in his duty.”

      Jeff scowled, feeling his face heat up, as Nick took off the black-framed glasses and tucked them into the pocket of his white coat. “Well, you also got kicked in the head. That sounds more amusing than it is. I don’t want you taking chances with that. Besides, the guy who did it is in a coma at Vanderbilt and Lindsey is a few rooms over, giving our nurses a run for their money. She’ll be all right. What’s left to do tonight?”

      Ray shifted his weight but before he could reply, Jeff snapped, “Forensics. I want to look in the car. And review the reports, and talk to Lindsey about—”

      Nick closed the mini-laptop and moved toward Jeff. “Now slow down. I get the picture. I don’t want to take any chances on the concussion. I’ve said you can leave, but only if there’s someone who can check on you tonight and in the morning.”

      Jeff grabbed the opening. “I live over my parents’ garage.”

      “Your dad is Alan Gage, right?”

      Jeff nodded. “Stepdad.”

      “Whatever. If Alan will agree to check in on you, I’ll have you out of here in an hour.” Nick nodded once, then turned and pushed through the door of Jeff’s E.R. room.

      Ray stepped up in his place, speaking before Jeff could get a word out. “No. Absolutely not.”

      “Ray—”

      “No.” The sheriff crossed his arms over his chest. “First, you were on duty, but you were also a victim. I’ll have to think twice about your level of involvement. Second, Troy and his tow truck are at the scene. He’s going to haul the GTO to the garage, and we’ll go over it tomorrow. No one’s going to touch it.”

      “His garage isn’t secure enough for a kidnap—”

      “It’ll be fine. Troy’s Rottweilers won’t let anyone touch it.”

      “But—”

      Ray put up a palm. “Jeff, quit pushing. You keep this up, and I’ll ask Nick to keep you overnight. Be satisfied that they’re dismissing you and that Lindsey’s not hurt any worse than she is.”

      Jeff let out a long breath as the door opened behind Ray. “No thanks to me.”

      Ray stepped closer. “You did nothing wrong. No one could have thrown off two attacks like that.”

      “That boy raised a lot of red flags. I should have paid attention.”

      “Stop that!” A small hand waved at him, and Lindsey limped into the room, a crutch under one arm. “You did everything you could.”

      Jeff’s eyes widened at the sight of her. “Everything but stop him.”

      Ray scowled. “Both of you hush. Lindsey, what are you doing out of bed?”

      Lindsey forced a small smile made crooked by her swollen jaw. A sharp feeling spiked right into Jeff’s chest. “I refuse.”

      Both men stared at her. “What?” Jeff asked.

      Lindsey looked at him. “It’s our rallying cry. The Presley sisters.” She glanced at Ray. “You can ask June about it. She wrote it. Made us memorize it. We’d say it to each other when things with our dad turned horrible. ‘I refuse